


Sparks

by thedoomofvalyria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoomofvalyria/pseuds/thedoomofvalyria
Summary: They had not seen each other yet, not like this, not properly, not alone and away from the clutter of other, more pressing, things.





	Sparks

Sirius gazed into the fireplace and imagined the lifespan of a spark. A curious and joyful being, born in warmth, given free reign to gnaw and cackle, before drifting peacefully away on a plume of smoke, leaving behind nothing but ash. No grief, no decrepit manor, no empty possessions. No broken promises.

Sirius sighed. It helped sometimes, these musings, pulling him out of himself on the nights when he was a little too much alone to sleep. He would train his mind on something external, something physical, and for a time at least, that fixation would drive the ghostly prison bars away.

But watching the fire that night, futilely personifying the flames, only heightened the despair coalescing inside him. In that moment, Sirius would have traded it all, all the trappings of human life, for the mischievous and carefree existence of a simple spark – even if it did mean burning out on the very same night of being born.

At that thought, Sirius barked out a sharp laugh, attempting to shake off the shame that accompanied it. _It’s this house_, he brooded defensively. _It always did make me morbid._ But even that excuse was growing thin, run ragged from being trotted out so often over the past few months.

There was no love lost between Sirius and the Black family home, and there was an odd sort of nostalgia, a comfort even, in hating something so familiar. But his problems were no longer so simple. He was no longer a boy who could run away to Hogwarts, or to James. And there were days when he felt as though he had never left Azkaban.

The room grew darker as the fire burned down to its embers. Loneliness settled over Sirius like a shroud. He finally had to admit that whatever he was waiting for (too desperate to acknowledge it by name, even in his own head) was never going to come.

But then, there was a knock at the door.

Sirius was slow to react, lost as he was in the muddy waters of self-pity. The knock sounded again, more insistently this time, so Sirius unfolded his body from the caverns of the couch. He moved softly toward the entrance, almost as if he feared to scare his visitor away.

Perhaps he thought it was little more than a dream, a wish made momentarily flesh by the magic of this night. Too insubstantial then, to be confronted roughly.

He shook himself slightly more awake, enough that he managed to cast a cursory spell, probing for ill intent. When it detected nothing, he threw open the door.

Remus stood there.

_Remus_. Standing in front of him, solid and real, and damp from the rain. He was wearing a threadbare overcoat and one hand was tangled in his hair, and he looked so much _older_ than the image Sirius had conjured for himself on the worst nights. But the tension in the lines of Remus’ body, the fear and hope warring in his eyes – that was as familiar to Sirius as his own mind. Remus. _Moony_.

Sirius inhaled sharply. They had not seen each other yet, not like this, not properly, not alone and away from the clutter of other, more pressing, things. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither sure how to reach across the chasm between them, widened as it was by months of avoidance, months preceded by years of pain and desire and loss and betrayal.

Then, just before Remus could look away, Sirius seized him by the shoulders and yanked him forcibly into the house. The door slammed shut as Sirius pushed Remus’ body against it, too consumed by need to even attempt to be careful.

“Moony – ” Sirius began, his grip sliding down Remus’ arms, ready to pull Remus against him fully. But Remus shrugged him off, hands coming up to scrub at his tired eyes, and Sirius immediately stepped back, his grip dropping away.

_It was too much, too fast_, Sirius thought feverishly. He always pushed too fast with Remus. But he didn’t know how to wait, not now, not after thirteen years of staying sane by imagining Remus’ face.

Sirius reached out and gently tugged at Remus’ hands, startling when Remus gripped back tightly. There were tears on his cheeks, but before Sirius could move to comfort him, Remus’ face hardened and he pinned Sirius with a fierce look.

“I never believed it, Sirius. Never.” Remus’s voice shook as he continued. “You would have died for James. I always knew.”

Sirius just looked at him, too stunned to speak.

Remus barreled on into the silence, suddenly sounding so much like the panicky schoolboy Sirius had first grown to love that he felt dizzy. “I can’t imagine what you… you must have thought that I, that I hated you, you must have felt so… and then now, these months with the Order, and I didn’t try to… didn’t even _say_ anything… but I, please Sirius, you have to know that I never, not ever – ”

“Moony,” Sirius cut him off. “I know.”

“What? I – ”

“Shhh,” Sirius whispered, placing a hand on Remus’ cheek. “I always knew too.”

Remus’ smile sparked between them then, rekindling a history that no tragedy could ever erase.

“Of course you did,” Remus said softly.

“Merry Christmas, Moony,” Sirius replied, only now understanding that this was what he had been too afraid to wish for.

“Merry Christmas, Sirius.” Remus’ head was bowed, as if what was passing between them was sacred – contrition, reconciliation, something to be revered and never again denied.

And as Sirius leaned forward to kiss Remus at last, he knew that this was a spark that would not die out for a very, very long time.


End file.
